Lift a Bow in Prayer
by Imperial Pigeon
Summary: He's an archer, and Diana watches over him.


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The first times Clint prays to her, really prays, he's got a broken leg in a snow-covered forest, an iced-up bow, two arrows, and a shot he needs to make.

"Diana," he thinks, "well, shit, we've made so many gods. But I'm a hunter and I need you now. Come on. One shot. And I swear, I'll burn you a bull afterward."

He's hazy with the pain and with the cold, but suddenly everything around him seems to blur and sharpen. There's a deer standing a few feet away, its pelt glowing silver.

"I don't often listen to the prayers of men," it says. "But I have made exceptions."

It tilts its head skywards, and appears to be staring at the stars.

 _Right_ , Clint thinks, _Orion_ , because if the myths are true, then that makes as much sense as anything else in the world.

He says, "An exception would be good."

Then the full force of the deer's gaze is on him, piercing like an arrow, and he holds himself together and thinks, "Name's Clint - I'm an archer - I'm an archer - _I'm a goddamn archer_ ," until the deer inclines its head and says, "Then you are mine."

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He makes the shot on a broken leg, half-frozen by the chill, with a bow-string that's nearly cracked from cold. The arrow shoots from his bow as if it were a rocket breaking orbit.

Clint doesn't miss.

Again the air around him takes on that peculiar stillness, and he says, "I make this kill in the name of Diana," which sounds proper and shit, and then he adds, simply, "Thanks."

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After that he makes all his kills in her name, goes camping when he can to burn her offerings. Working for S.H.I.E.L.D., he's know for a while now that the world is stranger than the eyes imagine. Well, Clint's just an archer. He tries not to think on it too long.

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Clint's got his bow notched and the shot clear, when suddenly his hands clench. He tries to wiggle a finger and realizes that he can't move his hands. He can't move his hands, _he can't_ –

"She is one of mine," Diana whispers, the sound breaking through his rising panic like the light of the moon, rising above the trees. "She is under my protection."

The pressure intensifies, until he's just concentrating on breathing. "Okay," he says, "Okay."

As her presence lifts, he takes in a huge gulp of air. He watches the Black Widow move out of range and he thinks, _what now_?

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Sometime after, he wakes up with her knife on his throat but it's a casual hold and he doesn't think he needs to be afraid. "Something wrong?" he asks.

The Black Widow – Natasha looks at him, her eyes agleam in the dark. "Why didn't you kill me?"

He grins and shrugs even as the knife moves over his skin and says,"You've got more friends out there than you know."

Clint's pretty sure that statement's going to drive her crazy, send her round and round in circles like a deadly cat. She nods and leaves and then Diana is there, and she says, "Hawk, you have done well."

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"She's left traces of herself all over you," Loki tells Clint during the long drive. "She's not really a goddess, you know. Little more than a spirit, existing off mortal belief."

"I believe in her," he tells Loki. "It's nice to have something to believe in."

"Hawk," Loki says. "Is that what she called you? I would have you believe in me now, Hawkling." He gives a small, ironic smile, "For a little while, at least."

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When he fights Natasha, Clint feels his limbs go stiff under the blue. Not by much, but it leaves him a fraction too slow, and that's all the time she needs.

Then he's standing in a field and Diana is in a woman's form now, wearing a short tunic and hunting boots. "She is mine," Diana says.

"I know. Wasn't exactly acting of my own free will there."

She brushes her hand down his cheek, in a cold gesture that's only a blessing, and whispers, "You are mine too."

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Once he's woken, Natasha leans in close, so that the cameras can't read her lips, and says, "Who is Diana?"

"Our secret," he says back and lets the silence hang like a noose.

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"I'm a whisper from history," Diana will tell him. "The archers have left the forests. All my altars have gone."

"I'm yours," he says. Then he thinks of how quickly his life will pass – "for a little while, at least."

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End file.
